Avoiding the Lens
by sparrowlove
Summary: Ryan hates the cameras sometimes. He had taken to doing the most boring things possible, so that the film crew would leave him alone" MichaelRyan.
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes the cameras always following around the staff of the office reminds Ryan of a reality show. More often, they remind him of pornography. Not the kind with real porn stars where everyone looks toned and shiny and happy; the amateur kind. The kind that you watch sometimes but you never end up getting off because you're too busy feeling sorry for the pathetic saps who are a little too flabby and a little too... _real_ and who are trying so hard to look like they're having fun and it's just not quite working. A fun fact about Ryan Howard: He hates pornography. He always feels embarrassed watching it, like he's prying into someone's private life, if someone's private life consisted of constant sexual encounters and hundred-decibel orgasms.

Obviously the documentary the cameras were working to film was nothing like pornography in content, except, according to Phyllis, one time she had run into Angela and Dwight doing something Ryan really didn't even want to visualize, and a cameraman had been with her. But there was that same mood, where everyone (and by everyone, Ryan meant Michael) was pretending to have fun as though wishing could make it happen.

Ryan hates the cameras sometimes. He had taken to doing the most boring things possible, so that the film crew would leave him alone in order to go film Andy singing, or Pam and Jim gushing about how much they loves each other, or Kelly gushing about how much she loved Zac Efron, or whatever it was the camera crew filmed when they were hovering around, waiting for him to screw up again.

Lately, the most boring thing he can think of was re-organizing Michael's rolodex. He had considered spending his time actually teaching Michael how to use his Blackberry, since Pam had programmed it, so that Michael wouldn't actually need the rolodex, but for some reason the cameras were always very interested in any interaction he had with Michael. Probably because Michael could usually be counted on to make a comment that was a-little-more-than-bordering on sexual harassment. Ryan shudders subconsciously and starts flipping through the cards.

He passes through the client cards; he had read all of those on Monday, when he had allergies and his eyes kept watering and he didn't want the cameras to film him and think he was crying. He had organized them by how embarrassing the information on the card that Michael wasn't supposed to mention to the clients was—divorce on the top, followed by adulterous divorce, all the way down to a client whose sister had married a cousin on the bottom.

This time it's the personnel cards. It seems like Michael had made a rolodex card for everyone he had ever met, and there was a whole group of cards detailing the information of all his past and present employees and coworkers. Ryan enjoys reading that, in addition to e-mail address and phone extension, Angela "smells like cat, but don't ask her about them unless you want to be bored to sleep," and Stanley "don't make him angry but he's great on pretzel day." By this time, the cameras were gone. Ryan had heard a crashing sound coming from upstairs in the Dunder Mifflin office, so he figures that was what they were going to check out.

He reaches his card. Unsurprisingly, it has more written on it than most of the others. "Ryan Howard." Then, in different colored pens, crossing out Ryan's previous jobs and replacing them.

"Temp. Sales. Corporate. No longer with DM. Sales." Next of course, came Michael's little notes:

"Smartest guy at DM." was clearly written with the same pen that crossed off "sales" and wrote "corporate;" it wasn't likely that Michael used a hot pink pen on two different occasions.

Then, written with the same dark blue used to pen "sales" for the second time, is this:  
"I think he hates himself."

There must be pollen in the room or something, Ryan thought; his allergies were coming back. He considers what Michael had written. Does he hate himself? Ryan is pretty sure the answer was no. But it isn't like he's happy. Then he thinks about it and has to admit, oddly enough, that his job at Michael Scott Paper Company makes him feel better than he has in a long time. But, like every other good thing that has ever happened in his life, he is sure that he won't be happy here soon either.

When Michael's accountant informs them that MSPC is on the verge of failure, Ryan isn't even surprised. Sure, he ran the numbers and everything worked, but _he_ ran the numbers, _he_ was involved, so...

Ryan takes a deep breath but then he just can't take it any more; he has to vent. "Am I just the biggest fucking idiot in the world?" Then he notices. The cameras are rolling. But he can't stop, so he shouts and throws things and Michael lets him, and when it's over, he leans against a wall, feeling defeated. And Michael tells him it's ok, and tries to make things better, but it's half-hearted and he is certain that this is it; even Michael doesn't believe in him anymore. Then Michael gets up from his chair as Ryan slumps on the floor, and Ryan can hear the door closing as Michael leaves the room and leaves Ryan alone.

Ryan hears a cell phone ring but he ignores it. He doesn't think it's his anyway, probably belongs to one of the camera guys, but even if it is, he doesn't want to answer it. He hears footsteps and the door opens and closes again, but he doesn't lift his head from his hands.

Then the footsteps come closer, and Michael sits on the floor facing him. Ryan looks up and the cameras have left the room. Michael shrugs. "I asked Andy to sing something. He wouldn't pass that up. Then I called those guys and told them Andy was singing; they always film it."

"Thanks," Ryan says quietly, feeling grateful.

"Are you ok?" Michael asks.

"I'm awesome," Ryan says, gritting his teeth, preparing for Michael to say something overly optimistic and happy, like he always does.

Michael surprises him by replying quietly. "New York was awesome. Thailand was awesome. Ft. Lauderdale was awesome. And now you're awesome."

"Yeah," Ryan muttered.

"I think there are dictionaries on the internet. Like, whole dictionaries," Michael says, and Ryan almost wants to laugh at how confused he sounds. He really ought to help Michael become a little more web-savvy. Or maybe Pam will do it. "You could look at them on the laptop," Michael continues, "read the actual definition of 'awesome'."

Ryan wonders when Michael became so damn... insightful. He's still wondering when Michael leans forward and gently brushes a strand of Ryan's hair out of his eye. Ryan thinks absentmindedly that he really wants to dye his hair back to brown, that blond was just ridiculous and who was he kidding. He doesn't even stop to consider what Michael is doing until Michael's lips brush against his own.

Michael's lips are soft, and his mouth tastes like cheese puffs. One of his hands puts soft pressure against Ryan's cheek. Ryan forgets for a moment that this is his boss, his male boss, his male boss who has been creepily attracted to him since his first day at work. His male boss who slapped his ass once, and told him he wanted to see him with a hot dog in his mouth once, and who slept in a bed with him once and when Ryan woke up, hung over and smelling like sweat, had an arm around him like a lover. But this time it's gentle and sweet and Ryan allows himself to be taken in by the kiss for a moment before pulling away and staring at Michael, wide-eyed.

"What did you just do?" Ryan asks, frantically. He looks around to see if the cameras had returned. This, he's sure, was something they would love to catch on film, but luckily Andy must still have been performing because they're nowhere in the room.

"I don't want you to hate yourself," Michael says softly. Ryan knows that Michael isn't really as innocent as he appears to be; he was with _Jan_, for God's sake, she of the massive fake implants and the not-so-secret chain-smoking and the drinking problem; Ryan has a feeling she might be a little kinky as well. He briefly considers whether or not Michael might have been in to Jan's possible kinks, and can't decide whether or not it was something he wanted to think about.

Anyway, he knows Michael's intentions are good. And, for all his faults, Ryan knows that Michael really cares. For all his horrible business decisions, all his failing at social interaction, Ryan knows that caring is one thing Michael really is good at.

It's not love, but it's not porn either, and when Michael leans in again, Ryan leans forward to meet him.


	2. Chapter 2

Ryan can't understand what had gone wrong. He throws a stapler in the cardboard box beside him and it hits a metal clipboard with a clang. He thinks about the first time he had heard of Dunder Mifflin, when that obnoxious, nosy woman from the temp agency had called him and said that a local paper company had called looking for someone. He had taken the job because, really, there was nothing else available, and he could use the money to help pay for business school.

Ryan remembers his first day on the job. He remembers Michael, asking if his last name was Howard like Mo Howard and then doing, inexplicably, a Hitler impression as a form of comedy. It was odd, to say the least, but Ryan appreciated that for once, he hadn't met someone who immediately referred to a famous former-Scranton resident with the same name. He wonders idly if people really believed they were being clever and original when they said things like "Hey man, great game last night! You really showed those Mets. Oh wait, that's the _other_ Ryan Howard. Har har."

Ryan remembers when Michael slapped his ass at the Dundies, when Michael asked Ryan to teach him about business models while they were waiting for a fire truck (although he tried not to remember why the fire truck had to be called in the first place), when Dwight took Ryan to that horror-fest of a farm and Michael warned Dwight to be nice to Ryan. He remembers when Michael was so excited that Ryan asked him to speak in one of his classes, Michael's face when Ryan told him he was leaving for corporate. He vaguely remembers Michael's face the first time he came back to Scranton, although it's a bit hazy, the drugs had already become a part of his life by then. He remembers reading about himself in Michael's diary, after Toby Flenderson had slipped him a copy, he remembers that time he had slept in his bed with Michael after Michael and Dwight came to New York, and he remembers returning to Dunder Mifflin Scranton.

Of course he remembers when Michael Scott started his own paper company. And of course he remembers, just a few days ago, when he and Michael had kissed and how he had felt comfortable and even happy with Michael's arms wrapped around him.

From all of this, Ryan remembers that Michael would always do whatever it was he thought would make Ryan like him. Sometimes it was creepy, and sometimes Ryan took advantage of Michael's willingness to do anything, _anything_ for Ryan—at least he used to. But Michael was always there to be a friend when Ryan needed him, and he was always willing to put his heart before his judgment. So why had Michael picked Pam for the sales job, leaving Ryan with next-to-no options? He could take back his temp job, for a third time, or he could leave.

So Ryan sits, tossing the office supplies that meant so little to him into the cardboard box that was probably going to break when he picked it up, as he prepares to leave the office that suddenly means so much to him.

There is a soft throat-clearing sound behind him and Ryan turns around with a start. He stands up. Michael looks at the ground. Ryan rolls his eyes.

"So, uh," Michael starts, and Ryan cuts him off.

"I'm going to go," Ryan says, turning back to pick up his cardboard box. The bottom rips as he lifts it. Of course. Michael crouches down and picks up the box of business cards, the paperclips, the stapler, the desk lamp. Ryan just stands with the broken cardboard in his hands, moving his left foot backwards so Michael can pick up a stray binder clip.

Ryan seethes with anger as he looks at Michael. He considers kicking him in the head, as Michael is still bent over retrieving office supplies, but he decides that it wouldn't help his case much. The worst part is that Ryan knows that Michael made the right decision. Pam has Jim's support, and Jim is probably the person in the office whose opinion Michael trusts most, but that's not the reason she got the job. Pam has a good personality, people skills, and a clean arrest record. Her coworkers like her, and Ryan is sure that her clients will like her. Ryan has... Michael. Sort of. And allergies; why the hell can he not control his allergies lately? Anyway, the cameras are right there, and he doesn't need a videotape of him assaulting someone. While his eyes are watering from his allergies, no less.

Michael stands up, his arms full of Ryan's random office junk. Ryan tries to take it from him but Michael pulls backwards. "I can carry it out to your car for you," he says quickly.

"I walked," Ryan counters, but Michael quickly responds that it's his lunch break, he wants to get some air anyway, he'll walk Ryan home; he doesn't live that far away... Ryan gives in and says okay; sure fine whatever, anything to make Michael shut up.

They walk outside and it's raining hard. Michael goes back inside for an umbrella, and Ryan contemplates making a run for it. But he doesn't really have anywhere to go, and Michael knows where he lives, so when Michael comes back outside with the large black umbrella, Ryan steps under it and they walk out into the storm. And at least there are no cameramen; they can't risk the equipment getting damaged in the rain.

"I need to explain something," Michael says. Ryan doesn't want to listen, but he's not just going to walk out in the rain. "You could take your temp job back, if you wanted to. But if I didn't give Pam the sales job, she wouldn't have anything. I can't just fire Erin for no reason, so there's no receptionist work, and if she went to work for the temp agency you were at, I couldn't make sure she got hired back at Dunder Mifflin."

Ryan knows that Michael is telling the truth, and worse, that he is making complete sense. But it still makes him angry: "Who cares?" he hears himself saying, and he feels bad because Pam _has_ been really nice to him lately, even after all he's done, but he can't stop himself. "It's not like she'll die if she can't work in the same building as Jim. Everyone needs receptionists. She'll find another job. No one wants to hire a former-drug-addict criminal who's never made a sale. They'd have to be insane."

"After you came back to Scranton, I requested you as a temp. Then I hired you at my paper company. I made sure that you got a job when they bought us out." Michael's voice isn't exactly unfriendly—Michael's voice is never unfriendly—but it's closer to unfriendly than Ryan has ever heard it. "Does that make me insane?"

"Yeah, maybe," Ryan said coldly, without thinking. Michael looks hurt and Ryan immediately regrets his words. "I didn't mean that," he says quietly.

"People would like you better," Michael comments, "if you thought about what you said before you said it." It's typical Michael—blunt and awkward and a little hypocritical, but pretty much dead-on (when he wants to be).

"K," Ryan says in answer, not sure exactly how to respond. Then, "I'll try."

It's about this point in the conversation where Michael kisses him again. Ryan doesn't remember exactly; he might have started to say something else stupid, but it's close enough. What he mostly remembers is Michael's lips touching his. Ryan sighs a little when Michael pulls him in closer, but then he realizes where they are and he quickly backs away, out from under the umbrella.

"They wouldn't come out in the rain," Michael says, obviously referring to the cameras.

"Yeah, but" Ryan says, gesturing around him, "anyone could just walk by and—"

"I think," Michael comments, "We're the only people walking down this side street in Scranton during a thunderstorm today." He lowers the umbrella—Ryan's already soaked from stepping away, his wet hair falling into his eyes, his white shirt turning see-through under his jacket and sticking to his skin, and Michael isn't much drier. The wind is blowing the rain sideways and it hits them both hard as Michael takes a step towards Ryan and Ryan meets him halfway.

Ryan remembers once when Kelly read him an article from Cosmo or Seventeen or one of those stupid magazines she loves to read about the most romantic places for public displays of affection or something ridiculous, and Ryan remembers that one of the places was in the rain. Ryan thinks briefly that Michael Scott is the last person he would ever expect to be French kissing in the rain, but realizes that he's definitely _not_ the last person he would ever _want_ to be French kissing in the rain. Ryan can't stifle a soft moan when Michael's kiss becomes more passionate, and he leans into him, wrapping his arms tightly around the older man.

Ryan doesn't even notice that he's shivering until Michael breaks away and says "You're going to get pneumonia if you don't go inside somewhere." They're still six blocks from Ryan's house, and much closer to Dunder Mifflin, so they go back to the office parking lot and get into Michael's car. Ryan knows that Michael knows where he lives, so when Michael drives past Ryan's house without stopping, Ryan figures that Michael knows what he's doing.

They stop outside this condo in a neighborhood that looks as though it's entirely populated by senior citizens and people with young children. And Michael, apparently. They aren't even in the door before they're kissing again. Michael manages to remove his coat and Ryan wants to take off his own but for some reason it's like he's holding on to Michael for dear life so he can't bring himself to let go. Luckily, Michael pushes the coat off Ryan's shoulders and Ryan only has to let one arm go at a time to get it off. Somehow Michael gets Ryan's shirt off too, tugging at the buttons until they come loose from the button holes.

Then Michael's kissing his cheek and then his neck and then his shoulder, his lips pressing against the spot between Ryan's throat and his breastbone, and Ryan's wondering how Michael can be so fucking good at this, at taking charge like this. Because he obviously isn't practicing his leadership abilities when he's working, and even doing... _this_, Ryan just can't see it. He doubts that Jan was the submissive type. Holly, maybe, but not likely. And then he can't even take the time to wonder or care because Michael's hands are moving down his chest and his mouth is following and Ryan is gasping for breath and making a noise he has never heard himself make before (though Michael seems to be enjoying it).

Ryan's still shivering, the rain had soaked him through to the skin, but as he sheds clothes he feels warmer and warmer and he doesn't even care that he's still dripping with dirty rain water. Then he realizes that they're in Michael's bedroom and he doesn't even remember going up the stairs. And Michael's pushing him—literally _pushing_ _him_—ontothe bed so hard that Ryan's head nearly smacks against the headboard as he goes down. And Ryan's letting him. He's letting Michael do whatever he wants, and it's just absolutely _uncanny_ how closely their interests align.

It's not like it's the first time that Ryan's been with a guy. But things are different when you're sleeping with some poor bastard because you don't really care what happens to you, than when you're sleeping with some poor bastard because you care so fucking much. And, well, it's _so_ different than when you're on your knees giving some stranger a blow job in an alley because you need more rock to make it through the week. It's not just that Michael isn't a stranger and his bed isn't a dark alley and Ryan's not a drug addict (and it's not just that this time, Ryan's not the one giving the blow job).

It's totally different. And different is so much better. And when Michael says "You should take your temp job back," Ryan says (after wondering why Michael is thinking about work at a time like this, or even _how_ Michael is thinking about work at a time like this, when Ryan can barely think about anything except what's happing to him right now), he says okay. It's the same job, the temp thing, but maybe this can be different too.


	3. Chapter 3

The thing Ryan knows about Michael Scott is that he sometimes has trouble keeping private things private. This means that at any moment, for lack of anything else to say, Michael could blurt out "I fucked the temp yesterday" to the entire office.

But luckily, thus far, Michael has stayed quiet and hasn't said anything like "I fucked the temp yesterday," or more accurately, "I had sex with Ryan yesterday," or more accurately and in the interest of full disclosure, "I had sex with Ryan yesterday, and then again last night, and then we messed around in the shower this morning but we didn't actually get to the sex part because Ryan couldn't keep it together when I—" Ryan is snapped out of his thoughts by Dwight yelling "Temp!" from across the office. Ryan makes a face when Dwight hands him some papers to copy, considers telling him to make the receptionist do it, and decides not to.

Michael's been in his office all day. Ryan wonders if he's alright, if he should go in and see him, but he knows that the old Ryan wouldn't. The old Ryan, the Ryan who hated nothing more than he hated Dunder Mifflin, wouldn't. The Ryan who would never, _ever_ attempt to blow his boss on the way to work and then have to finish things with his hand because Michael had almost swerved off the road and Ryan had decided that if they both died in a fiery car accident, he would rather his charred corpse be found getting Michael's charred corpse off with his hand than with his mouth. _That_ Ryan wouldn't give a damn why his boss was cooped up in his office, would probably be thrilled that Michael isn't around. And he doesn't want to look like anyone but the old Ryan for fear that someone will notice and wonder why he's being nice to Michael.

Ryan thinks about this for a minute and realizes that there really isn't an old Ryan and a new Ryan. He's not a changed man. If he was, he wouldn't place the opinions of people he doesn't even like over the feelings of a man who, well okay, he clearly has some sort of feelings for. Ryan steels himself and stands up. Then the door to Michael's office opens. He sits back down awkwardly. Creed gives him a look.

Michael walks towards Ryan's desk and Ryan feels as though everyone in the office is watching, even though most likely, no one's paying attention; even Creed has turned back to doing whatever disturbing thing he does with his time. Michael leans over him, so close that his lips are almost touching Ryan's ear.

"I'm not generally a bad driver," he mutters. Ryan begs to differ, but he can't say anything because now Michael's got him thinking about this morning. Thinking about Michael's hand tangled in Ryan's hair as he pushes Ryan's head down just slightly, and the sounds Michael makes as Ryan does his best to reciprocate for the day before, (and last night, and earlier this morning), and that stupid GPS telling them to get the hell back on the goddamn road (only in nicer language and with a British accent). And Ryan tries to will all the blood in his body to his face or his arms or his feet—anywhere, _anywhere_ but where it's trying to go.

Ryan tries to respond and ends up choking on his own saliva. He tries again and manages to spit out "Okay."

"Okay," Michael repeats. Then he asks if Ryan wants to eat lunch with him. Ryan's pretty sure he won't be able to leave his desk for a while so he shakes his head _no_ with what is probably a rather pained expression on his face. Michael walks away, looking slightly disappointed, but there's really nothing Ryan can do. It's Michael's fault anyway. For bringing up the car ride. For being so goddamn... Michael.

After five or ten minutes of thinking about Meredith and dead fish and Dwight's cousin, Ryan decides he's alright to stand up. But by this point Michael's back in his office, so he just sits at his desk. He googles for apartments; he figures that if he ever wants to be with Michael somewhere other than Michael's condo or Michael's car, he really shouldn't be living with his mother. He finds a website of available apartments around Scranton, scrolls down the list. It's organized by price, and by the time Ryan reaches the ones he can afford—one room apartments in the shadiest parts of town—he decides that he probably ought to wait a while longer before he makes plans to move out. Still, there's no harm in looking, even if it just reminds him of everything he can't have, everything he's giving up to stay in Scranton.

Ryan realizes that he's thinking about Michael in terms of the future. Not Michael in terms of hooking up when Ryan's feeling vulnerable or when Michael's feeling lonely, but Michael in terms of being with Michael, even when he's not necessarily sleeping with Michael.

Ryan can't believe he's thinking about this so quickly, but it's not like he's thinking about moving in with Michael. It's about time he gets his own apartment anyway, and if it means that Michael can stay over sometimes, even better. Of course, it does mean that Ryan is accepting that he'll be working at Dunder Mifflin for a while longer, even if he doesn't get anything better than a temp job there, (because really, what else can he do in Scranton?) but he doesn't really mind.

They try the car thing again on the way home from work that night, but this time they park first, somewhere secluded. It works a lot better. Ryan feels like a high school student although he considers that this wasn't really the sort of thing he was doing in high school.

Ryan doesn't want to talk to his mom about why he didn't come home last night or why he wants to move out or why he smells like cheap cologne when he still has half a bottle of that really nice stuff Kelly bought him for Christmas one year, so he stays at Michael's again.

Ryan wakes up and Michael's arm is draped over him. He's in exactly the same position he was last night—that is, on his stomach with his face buried in Michael's pillow, because he sleeps in the dark and Michael uses a night light. Ryan is really going to have to do something about that because he absolutely cannot be with a grown man who uses a night light, even though no one is ever going to know if Ryan can help it. Michael's arm is across his shoulders. It's only 7:30 and Michael is still snoring softly, but Ryan gets up because he really needs a shower. He also really needs to find some clothes that won't look as though they're Michael's because he can't wear his own suit for the third day in a row and there's no way he's going home to get a different one.

He's rummaging through Michael's drawer with a towel slung around his shoulders when Michael rolls over and opens his eyes. "Hey," Michael says.

Ryan is about to say "Hey" in return and then suddenly it hits him that he's spent the past two nights with Michael and they've basically been the best two nights of the past year or so, maybe longer. And by best, he pretty much means the only good ones, the only ones where he's not high or in jail or jobless or going to mandatory drug counseling or whatever, but also by best he really means best. Like, really good, not just alright compared to drugs and prison. The thought actually makes him feel physically overwhelmed and a little bit ill. For a moment he turns away and tries not to gag. Then the sensation passes, and Ryan looks back at Michael. "Hey," he replies.

"What are you doing?" Michael asks, as though there could be any number of reasons for a mostly naked man to be looking through a drawer full of clothes.

"I don't have anything to wear," Ryan answers. Michael suggests looking in the closet; he thinks Jan might have left some of her clothes behind from when they lived together, but even though Michael thinks the clothes would probably fit, Ryan remembers Michael's one accidental foray into cross-dressing, and how everyone in the office picked up on it right away, and decides that it wouldn't really help his efforts to not draw attention to himself.

He ends up in navy blue sweatpants and a grey t-shirt. It's a pretty horrible outfit for work, but it is Friday at least, and he can just say he went for a run before work and didn't have time to change. Also, the clothes are definitely clean and fairly unworn; Michael's not really the athletic type.

Michael drives to work and Ryan walks, because he's pretty sure that someone from Vance Refrigeration saw Ryan get out of Michael's car after their "carpool" yesterday, and because Ryan needs to make his story look believable anyway.

No one says anything about Ryan's sweat suit. They're busy trying to figure out why the hell Dwight is cooking horse meat in the toaster oven. Ryan's curious himself, but he knows any discussion involving him and the toaster oven will inevitably lead to remembering one thing, and he's still trying to live that down (of course, replacing Fire Guy with Drug-Addict Guy, Embezzlement-and-Corporate-Fraud Guy, and Peroxide-Blonde Guy isn't any better. But at least it's not Michael-Scott's-Bitch Guy).

He finds himself glancing over at Michael's office during the day. Sometimes Michael is glancing back. Or more likely staring. No one notices; nobody else in the office really enjoys looking at Michael. Or Ryan, for that matter. Around lunchtime, Toby walks over to ask Ryan a question about some form he filled out when he returned to being a temp. Ryan wonders what Toby would say if Ryan asked him for one of those relationship-disclosure forms. Probably, Toby would be so shocked that _anyone_ at Dunder Mifflin could like Ryan (except for maybe Kelly, but if it was Kelly again, she'd be getting the forms so she could tell Toby all about her relationship) that he would be more surprised at the initial asking than at the signature on the form with Ryan's. But of course, Ryan doesn't ask.

Ryan calls his mom around one, letting her know that he's making plans to move out, once he can get the money. She asks him where he's been for the past couple of days, and he makes up a story about staying at a friend's house. It's not entirely a lie. He can tell she's worried, probably thinks he's doing drugs again, so before hanging up, he promises to stop home after work and pick up some clean clothes.

At about 3:15, Ryan talks to Michael. Michael asks if he has any plans for the weekend and Ryan says he doesn't. Nobody notices, even though Ryan _always_ has plans (usually his plans mainly entail avoiding being asked by Michael to hang out). Last week he had to hang out with his friends. The week before he had plans to hang out with his grandparents. The week before that, he had plans to hang out with his second cousins who were in town from Europe for just one weekend, what a shame. But this week, no plans. Ryan feels like he's being paranoid, being so sure that changing his habits will cause people to notice his relationship with Michael.

But at the same time, everyone found out about Jim and Pam when they were trying to hide their relationship. And before that, about how Jim had a crush on Pam while she was with Roy. And about Michael and Jan. And about Michael and Holly. And about Angela and Dwight. And... Ryan sighs, and goes back to working and avoiding all possible eye contact.

On Fridays, as soon as the clock hits five, everyone rushes out of the office. On every day, really, but even more so on Fridays. Michael stands at the door like a Disney World character, smiling and waving at Jim and Pam, Erin, Andy, Meredith, Stanley, as they all leave the workspace.

When everyone has gone, Michael asks if Ryan wants a ride. Ryan says thanks, but he has to go home and he should probably walk, since it's going to look suspicious enough when he shows up in someone else's clothing, and he suggests that they meet up at a bar later—not Poor Richard's, somewhere that not everybody goes. Michael's face lights up at this, and Ryan isn't surprised; he knows it was exactly the right thing to say. Ryan's known Michael for what, five years now? Probably knows him better than most of his coworkers, except maybe Dwight. Because Michael's got this obnoxious habit of using Ryan as his confidant for the stupidest things, whenever he gets a hint of anything but rejection from Ryan's words or body language.

Ryan knows exactly where Michael shops, why Michael and Jan broke up, how Michael likes his coffee, how Michael feels when Todd Packer insults him in that joking-but-not-really-joking assholish way that Todd Packer has, how heartbroken Michael was when Holly left. And he knows that more than anything, Michael wants a relationship with someone who can be his best friend. Sure he likes sex. But mostly he wants someone to talk to and go out with and cuddle and all that stuff that Ryan is still sort of uncomfortable with but did in his last relationship, with Kelly, because she loved it and Ryan loved her and will do with Michael because Michael loves it and Ryan... well, Ryan pulls Michael into a kiss in the middle of the office. Michael presses his body against Ryan's.

There are footsteps in the direction of the office door. Alarm bells and swear words immediately start going off in Ryan's head, but his brain can't convince his body to pull away.

"Oh my god," Kelly whispers behind them. Then she giggles, "that is so hot." Ryan feels the corners of Michael's mouth twitch, but Michael is still too busy kissing him to smile or laugh or whatever it is he wants to do that Ryan definitely doesn't want to do because he's too busy thinking about how screwed he is. And kissing Michael.

Ryan is debating trying to come up with an excuse but he can't really think of anything that would explain him with his arms wrapped around Michael and his tongue in Michael's mouth in the middle of the office at 5:06 (or at any time, anywhere, for that matter) except the truth. And he doesn't really feel like talking to Kelly about it, so he just keeps kissing and hopes she won't say anything else.

Ryan hears Kelly walk back to the alcove and he assumes she forgot her cell phone. She usually forgets it at work at least twice a week, because she spends all day playing with it and then leaves it on her desk. Whatever she's doing, it's fast, because a minute later he hears the office door slam again. It's only then that Ryan breaks away from Michael. "Oh my god," he says.

"Wow," Michael breathes, and Ryan isn't sure if he's talking about the kiss or about Kelly. He's grinning in a sheepish sort of way.

"Shit," Ryan mutters. Ryan has a hand on Michael's arm, and one of Michael's hands is cupping the side of Ryan's face, and they're still standing there like that and just looking at each other when one of the camera men walks back in to the room, camera rolling. "Shit," Ryan mumbles again.

Then he's defiant, because he realizes it's too late to do anything to keep the whole office from finding out. And because he's actually starting not to care. He doesn't consciously decide he doesn't care about everyone else because he cares too much for Michael; "Fuck it," is his actual thought process. Regardless, he says "Let's go," to Michael, grabbing him by the arm. Ryan pulls Michael out of the office and as they leave, Michael turns back and Ryan's pretty sure that the sonofabitch actually grins to the camera.

In the parking lot, Ryan heads for the road and Michael heads for his car. Then Michael doubles back and says, "You don't have a car anymore, do you? How will you get to the bar?" Ryan can hear a note of fear in his voice, and he realizes that, even after the events of the past few days, Michael thinks Ryan's just making excuses not to spend time with him. Just like he always does.

And Ryan decides that he can do without clean shirts at least for a little while longer, so he says "Forget it; I can pick up clothes in the morning." He receives a grateful smile. Ryan shrugs and smiles and follows Michael back to the car.

The bar is east of the office, so they're not actually driving away into the sunset, but it's close enough for government work. Or mid-sized paper company work, as it were. Ryan doesn't know what's going to happen Monday, when Kelly or the cameraman inevitably tells someone—or more likely, everyone. But it's the weekend, so until Monday comes, none of it matters. Except for him and Michael. And mostly Michael.


End file.
